As horrible as Phaedra's life was, she wasn't going to let her two-timing husband completely ruin it. She was a beautiful, competent woman, and there were plenty of people who were more than happy to be her friend and keep her company. The duchess poured herself out for her three sons, but she also made time to get filled up. Today was one such time. These gatherings were always held when it was impossible for Augustus to attend.

Her guests were a tasteful array of individuals from the upper echelon of their society, all from marked families, loyalists with generations of service to Lorendale in one matter or another. There were some married couples, but notably also some singles, both men and women. All fell within the age bracket that could reasonably be considered peers. They drank tea and wine and snacked on a range of things, from cheese and bread to crisp vegetables. They'd played a group game before and had broken into smaller groups for conversing.

Upon Augustus' entrance, he would find that his wife was seated at a game of chess across from a handsome count. Her glass was at her mouth, though she didn't drink, and rather than her attention on the game she peered coyly at the man. He was talking, his smile broad, something undeniably flirtatious in his manner. The only reason she didn't worry about rumors was because this friend group, though it was large, had an understanding. There was quite a lot transpiring within it that would make folks gasp.

"My lord!" A man from the couch who sat with his wife declared the words loudly. He was one who was always happy to see Augustus, though his annoying mannerisms prevented the feeling from being mutual. "We were just asking your lady when you would join us for one of these events. Come, sit, drink."

The glass was lowered from Phaedra's lips as her gaze shot across the room to where her husband who wasn't supposed to be home was very much home. Her lips managed to form a smile, though surely unconvincing to her husband. She slowly set her glass down, glanced at the man across from her, and excused herself with a quiet murmur and an extended hand placed on his that was holding his chess piece. Intentional? Definitely.

With all the grace of a lady she rose and crossed towards Augustus, her manner composed while her heart raced in her chest. She dipped into a deep curtsy when she reached him.

"My lord. Welcome home." It was still but polite, not entirely odd, but her friends knew their marriage was a strained one, if they didn't know exactly why. You could smell it when you walked through the door.

My lord. The identifier was common and insufficient. Augustus was a prince. He wasn’t eager to share a pedestal with the likes of the man on the couch, even if it was only one a single word could make. Though he would have liked to wrinkle his nose, instead his face lit up with a smile and a bright laugh.

That smile flickered, fading for just a moment as he saw Phaedra trading flirtatious smiles across a chessboard. Whatever she might think of him, Augustus had never stopped loving his wife. But gods, how he had started to hate her as well. Her lingering hand on the man’s did not go unnoticed. It was a pitiful display One that only added to his exhaustion-laden frustration.

“It seems you’ve had enough for the two of us, Marquis,” Augustus responded to the man who’d called to him. This joke was met was a hearty laugh by several in the room, obligatory or otherwise. When Phaedra approached, Augustus’s eyes turned to her, sharpening. Regardless, he’d lean in to kiss her, seemingly with all the enthusiasm of a man still quite in love.

“Well this is certainly a…pleasant surprise.” The word ‘surprise’ was the one emphasized, for it was the one he meant. His soft murmur was still accompanied with a handsome smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

In contrast, when Augustus leaned in for the kiss Phaedra turned her head slightly, subtly, so his lips would only reach her cheek. The smile that rest on her lips for that moment of contact was paper thin, barely veiling her loathing, both for him and herself in that moment. If any observers noticed then they did well to pretend they didn't. In fact, most of the attendees seemed to be returning to what it was that interested them before Augustus entered. All except the obnoxious man from the couch.

"Hardly!" He protested. "I've just got started." He nudged his wife for laughter support, that which she offered awkwardly. Phaedra ignored the rest of the room now. She only had eyes for Augustus, and they weren't gentle.

"It was my aim to please you, as always." Her words dripped with sugar, only there was too much of it, and the sweetness had rotted, leaving an astute man left only with the toe-curling sarcasm. Moving on, "Do you intend to join us or shall I return to my game?"

There was something oddly stimulating about the need to perform their marriage in public. It was a game, one of casual daggers slipped nonchalantly between the ribs, the attacks disguised as gestures of affection. Though Augustus loathed it, as they played he was reminded of Phaedra’s usefulness. That the same careful, precise game is one Phaedra could easily play in other arenas to far more beneficial targets.

“Actually, I’d like to steal you for a moment. Perhaps by the time you return, you, my lord,” Augustus looked over Phaedra’s shoulder at her partner, “Will have freed your queen from her current predicament.” He gestured at the chessboard with an amiable smile before turning his attention back to his wife. There was a dare in his eyes. A caution.

No matter how rebellious Phaedra could be behind closed doors, or even engaged in this game, she would never dare cause a scandal, not even before her friends. A scandal could utterly ruin you, and while she was convinced that she would love to see Augustus suffer, if his name took a great fall then so did her name, and the names of her sons. She wouldn’t damn a whole generation over this interpersonal drama.

Phaedra followed his gaze over her shoulder.

“Doubtful.” She purred in response to her husband’s words, a flirtatious response, but whether it was directed at the partner or her husband wasn’t obvious in the least.

Phaedra’s hand slipped between Augustus’ arm and side to grasp it lightly, willing him to take her where he would. Let them see. Let them suspect. As soon as the eyes were from them her hand would fall away, not a hint of the pang she felt at their truth showing on her face.

Doubtful. At least on that, they could both agree.

“I’ll have her back in no time, my lord,” Augustus said, still quite at ease, shooting a friendly smile in the drunken buffoon’s direction. He led his wife away, crossing the hall just a short ways into an adjacent study. Not his main study, but one for show. A fire crackled in the hearth. Augustus brought her in and shut the door behind them.

Once the door closed, Augustus’s amiable demeanor fell away.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?” He said with an edge, going over to pour himself a drink. He often wielded such disgruntled sarcasm and aimed it in Phaedra's direction, so perhaps it had lost its luster, but this time it had less to do with her and more to do with the matters that weighed on his mind.

Phaedra’s pleasantry melted away as surely as Augustus’ did. Ah, now they were free to be truthful. It was liberating, and also a little disappointing. At one point in time she would have had her back pressed against the door, Augustus’ warm lips hotly covering her neck in the privacy of the study…

She crossed her arms over her chest and remained where she stood as he went to pour himself a drink.

“What do you need?” She wasn’t going to chat with him. They didn’t talk much. This marriage was business.

He liked Phaedra best like this. This—the shrewd woman whose council he valued—was the person in the world he trusted most. Augustus had never told her that, she likely didn’t know it, but it was true all the same.

“There’s been another attack,” Augustus said flatly, “Gideon DeCarlo, killed in a village. Supposedly a coordinated anti gifted attack, or so the queen and Lady Saelim believe. But…so soon after Marquis Paccoretti…” Augustus paused, brow furrowing, “I’m not so sure."

For Phaedra, these were the only moments with Augustus that worked. For a moment all the hurt and betrayal could be set aside as they stuck their heads together for the good of Lorendale.

Her perfect brow lowered, darkening her stunning blue eyes. Another attack.

“What do you think this is, then?” She knew nothing of the attack itself, thus had no opinion of her own.

“That the gifteds are trying to play the queen for a fool,” Augustus knew they were alone, but he still kept his voice low and even. One never knew who had their ear pressed against the door.

“The gifted slurs on his skin, linking it back to the Sons when we have no other reason to believe they still exist…the man isn’t even gifted, yet they choose him as their target?” Augustus had started to pace in thought, which wasn’t at all unusual, “He was going there to register gifteds. Gifteds were the ones who called him and knew he would come. It feels…off. It feels staged. The gifteds want two sides to this war, and I fear the queen is about to give it to them.”

It was a hypothesis. Speculation, but at this point what else did they have?

Phaedra’s gaze followed her pacing husband. Where his expression was one of perplexity, hers was gracefully calm, her brow having softened now that news of the death had worn off.

“What reason would gifteds have to antagonize the queen?” She prompted. “Her mother was gifted and elevated those with gifts during her time as regent. Our queen has refused to collar any gifted during her rule, even those who committed crimes that warranted collaring under Nya’s regulations. What does a war benefit them?” She didn’t have answers herself, but she wouldn’t hesitate to question anything and everything in an attempt to help Augustus get to the bottom of this.

Augustus was the kind to talk things through, working through the details and arguments on either side with his wife as his partner. So he continued to pace as he weighed all the elements at play.

“Maybe they want supremacy,” Augustus postulated, though even he sounded unconvinced, “Maybe they’ve decided war is inevitable either way, and they want to force the queen to act on their behalf. There’s plenty of fear to go around when it comes to gifteds—they’ve been allowed to live freely, and many have abused that privilege. With Lady Marshal Kane’s public petition, maybe they suspect their time is up. I don’t know…”

Augustus ran a hand through his hair in frustration before sipping his drink.